


i'll fight.

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Crushes, F/F, F/M, First Dates, Meet-Cute, Polyamory, Self-Defense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5945548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he signed up for the classes, he expected they’d be taught by a professor, or at least a standard gym teacher.  Big, bulky, fit, intense.  He’s a little bit surprised when at the front of the class, he sees a tiny little girl, at least a half a foot smaller than him, her hair woven into braided pigtails on either side of her head.  He doesn’t doubt she is probably a little bit terrifying; Lydia would eviscerate Stiles if he acted like this girl being small and young meant that she wasn’t perfectly capable of leading the class.</p><p>Still, when she almost trips over a mat on the floor, Stiles starts to question things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll fight.

“You don’t need to be a girl to be able to make good use of self-defense classes,” Stiles’ dad says disapprovingly.  “If they’re giving them to you guys for free, you should go.  You never know when it might pay off.”

“It isn’t a matter of not being a girl,” Stiles protests.  “It’s a P.E. class.  That’s what it is.  A glorified P.E. class, which, no thanks.  I skipped enough times back with Finstock, when it was mandatory, that-”  He shuts his mouth realizing what he just said to his dad.  “I mean.  I didn’t skip.  I did… independent studies.  In the weight room.  With Scott.  Because I wanted to be buff, and…”

“I was at parent teacher conferences every semester,” Sheriff says, “I know you were skipping P.E. classes.”

“Uh, right,” Stiles says. “So, uh.”

“Self-defense classes,” Stiles’ dad says, and, well.

Now Stiles is here.

When he signed up for the classes, he expected they’d be taught by a professor, or at least a standard gym teacher.  Big, bulky, fit, intense.  He’s a little bit surprised when at the front of the class, he sees a tiny little girl, at least a half a foot smaller than him, her hair woven into braided pigtails on either side of her head.  He doesn’t doubt she is probably a little bit terrifying; Lydia would eviscerate Stiles if he acted like this girl being small and young meant that she wasn’t perfectly capable of leading the class.

Still, when she almost trips over a mat on the floor, Stiles starts to question things.

Another girl shows up three minutes before class starts, decked out in a black tank-top and neon workout shorts, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.  She’s tall, and she looks intimidating in a way that the smaller girl doesn’t, wiry and firm.  

Until she smiles at the other girl, dimples lighting up her face, and gives the other girl a kiss on the top of her head.

“I’m Allison,” the tall girl says, “and this is Kira.  We’re both seniors, and neither of us is being paid to do this, so we aren’t going to be taking any shit.  A lot of what we will be doing requires some hands-on training, and the two of us will be helping you through demos.  At times, we may ask to correct your positioning or physically touch you to help you make adjustments.  If you don’t want us to, let us know, and we’ll do our best to describe what we want you to do verbally.  We promise we will be professional about any contact, and not sit there and grope you.”

“And if you try to sit there and grope us,” Kira pipes up.  “Neither of us is afraid to demonstrate some of the techniques we’ll be teaching you in this class.”  Stiles thinks maybe she seems a little bit more terrifying, now.  Kira looks perfectly cheerful as she threatens an entire class of students.  

He’s even a little bit more terrified when he realizes that, although she seems sweet, Kira appears to be every bit the hardass that Allison is, when it comes to pushing people to work hard and take the class seriously.  There’s a lot more exercise and physical fitness involved in the class than Stiles would really like.  He wonders halfway through the third class just how well he could lie to his dad and say he’s going when he’s not.  But then, afterwards, when he’s lying on the floor and lamenting his existence, his arms and abs sore, Kira sits down next to him.

“You did really well today,” she says, her smile warm.  “You’ll get more used to it as time goes along, but you’re working hard, and Allison and I appreciate it.”

“I’m dying,” Stiles grumbles.  “I can barely feel my arms.”

“Can…” Kira glances up and across the room.  “Do you mind if I touch?”

“No way you can make them feel more like jelly than they already do,” Stiles says, and Kira reaches out, gently massaging his right arm.  

“Allison’s mom is a personal trainer,” she says, “and she taught us a few tricks.  Massages after workouts help with muscle recovery, and on top of that, massages after workouts-”

Kira touches a spot that’s already starting to ache, and Stiles winces.  The noise escapes from his mouth that sounds more like a moan than he’s comfortable with, and Kira pauses for a moment.

“Can feel good?” she says, giggling.  “Maybe not necessarily when you’re having them, but...”

“I don’t know,” Allison says, and Stiles didn’t even realize she had moved close to them.  “I think he’s enjoying it.”

Both of their eyes are on him, and Stiles can feel his face going bright red.  With both of them looking and Kira still touching his arm, Stiles wonders just how obvious it is that his dick is chubbing up in his sweatpants.

“I should probably go,” he blurts, and he sits up, almost knocking Kira in the head.

“You should,” Allison agrees.  “There’s another class waiting to use the room.  But Kira’s right, you did well this class, and we’re looking forward to seeing you put in the same amount of effort next class.”

Stiles groans.  “You’re gonna kill me,” he tells them.  “I’m going to die, and it’s going to be all your fault.”

“See you next class,” Kira says brightly, and Allison grins.  Stiles hates them both.

* * *

 

Stiles stays late and walks out with Allison and Kira after class.  Sometimes he helps them put away the mats, but sometimes he just sits on the floor, guzzling water and letting Kira smile sympathetically at him.  He gets to see Kira and Allison kiss again, a few times, but Kira doesn’t offer him any more arm massages.  Allison gives him a high five, once, and it’s the highlight of his day, even if sitting up and stretching out his arm to give it to her feels awful.

The amount of touching going on in class is ramping up a lot, though, true to their word, it’s very professional and brief and not at all sexual.  Stiles wishes it were, a little bit.  Maybe more than a little bit.  He wishes it were, a lot.  But he’s also learned a lot since high school about not being gross, or at least not being gross out loud.  He’s not going to make things any more awkward for either of them than he has to.

They either don’t seem to notice his awkwardness, though, or they’re so used to his awkwardness that this somehow isn’t out of the ordinary, because they talk to him now, after class.  He learns the story of how they got together, back in high school, about their favorite parts of teaching the class and about what they’re both actually studying in school.

What surprises him most, though, is when they casually talk about an ex, a Derek that they left back in New York, and Stiles pieces together the fact that he was dating them both.

“Polyamory can be totally healthy,” Allison says when she sees Stiles’ dropped jaw.  “You just have to communicate.  We would’ve kept things going with Derek if it hadn’t been long-distance, we really liked him.”

“You just… date other people?” he asks.  “Together?”

“Sure,” Kira says, like they haven’t said anything out of the ordinary.  “Why not?”

Besides, “you can’t all get legally married,” Stiles isn’t actually sure he has a good answer.  He goes to the internet for guidance and finds it’s more of a thing than he expected, and not reserved for dudes in religious organizations taking on multiple unwilling wives.

He starts thinking about his own life and his friends’ lives, the way Lydia still looks at Jackson, and Scott does, now, too.

Maybe the idea has some merit, after all.

* * *

 

They’re getting to the end of the class, and Stiles has come a long way.  He doesn’t want to admit to his dad that it’s been a useful class, even for him, but, well.  It’s been a useful class.  He’s learned a lot and heard a lot of stories and even met a couple of non-Scott people he doesn’t hate, including the two instructors.  

Stiles is taking his time heading out one night after class when he realizes that Allison left her jacket.  He grabs it and goes after her and Kira, squinting in the moonlit night to see them a block and a half ahead of him.  Both of them walk quickly, and he uses his long legs to keep up, following them another two blocks before he finally starts gaining ground.  They get stopped at a crosswalk, and Stiles jogs up behind them.  They both turn, hearing his footsteps on the pavement of the sidewalk, and Stiles is reaching out his arm to hand them the jacket when he hears, “No, it’s-”

He’s doubled over, lowering himself to the ground to catch his breath, the jacket dropped next to him.  Kira finishes weakly.  “...Stiles.  It’s Stiles.”

“Oh my god,” Allison says, rushing down to the ground and putting her hand on his back.  “I’m so sorry, I got a little bit paranoid because there was an attack down this road last weekend, I wasn’t thinking, I just.  Are you hurt?  Does anything feel broken?  I didn’t aim to break anything, but…”

“The only thing hurt is my pride.  And my heart,” Stiles groans.  “And maybe my esophagus.”

“Your heart?” Kira asks, but Stiles doesn’t respond.  She plops down to the ground next to them.  “We should probably get off the sidewalk, as soon as you can stand.”

“Gimme a hand,” Stiles says, and they’re both on their feet, reaching out to give him a tug up.  He’s gonna ache for a while, and he’s a little hunched over, but he’s not going to die.  Probably.  He can’t actually be certain.  He thinks it is reasonably probable that he will not die, though.

“Do you want to come over to ours?” Allison asks him.  “Most of the places on our way will be closed, but we can make you apology brownies.  And we have alcohol.”

“ _Allison_  can make you apology brownies,” Kira corrects.  “She didn’t follow the rules of what we’ve been teaching you, even.  But we do have brownie mix and alcohol.  You’re more than welcome to come over.  We’d been thinking of having you over for dinner sometime, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says.  He has homework he really should be working on, but he honestly couldn't care less about it.  Allison and Kira are inviting him over to eat food, and said that they were planning on doing it anyway, and everything is perfect.  He was elbowed in the stomach to get there, but, still.  Perfect.  “Brownies and alcohol sound really good right now.”

Allison smiles.  “We’re close, so not too much more of a walk.”

“Let’s go, then.”

They drink hard cider and make brownies, Stiles manning the stirring and the egg cracking and leaving the measuring to Allison’s precise movements and watchful eyes.  They eat two thirds of the small pan themselves, and Allison puts the rest in tupperware to send home with Stiles in the uber he called.  

“You can bring it to class,” Allison says.  “Or, you know.  Maybe go out to dinner with us, sometime.  We can do this again.”

“Gimme your number and I’ll text you when I’m free,” Stiles says and hands over his phone, open to a new contact page.

He gets into the uber car with two new numbers in his phone, a tupperware container with three brownies, and a potential date.

Stiles is pretty sure the self-defense classes were worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
